Seven Hours in Hell
by Mindy35
Summary: Jack/Liz. Post-ep for "College". Jack and Liz get another seven minutes in heaven.


Title: Seven Hours in Hell

Author: Mindy35

Rating: T, adult themes

Disclaimer: Characters are property of Ms Fey and her studio posse. No moolah made.

Pairing: Jack/Liz. Mentions Jack/Avery, Liz/Carol, Pete/Paula

Spoilers: "Reunion", "Live Show", "College".

Summary: Post-ep for "College", kind of AU. Liz and Jack get another seven minutes in heaven.

A/N: With great admiration to GBS and Lerner and Lowe whose work is referred to. Quote is from "The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing" by the fabulous Melissa Bank. No infringement intended on any.

A/N2: There are huge chunks of fic cut out of here unfortunately, due to the ratings rules on this site. If you wish to read the full, adult version of this story and other adult stories by me (and are the appropriate age, of course) then please find me at Livejournal as mindymakru (just Google it). Thankyou for reading.

-x-x-x-

_Archie asked me if I knew__ Dante's definition of hell._

_I sipped my cappuccino. "Give me a minute," I said._

"_Proximity without intimacy," he said._

-x-

It began because, well into their nostalgic musings, Jack murmured: "So if this really was College, what else would we be doing right now?"

Pete answered with a snort and: "Well, you two could make out." Which made him roll on the floor with laughter.

Jack narrowed his eyes and responded with: "Or _you two_ could make out."

Then Liz quickly and gleefully added: "Or _you two_ could make out."

Pete stopped laughing. He and Jack exchanged wary sidelong looks. Liz chortled triumphantly.

She lent forward on the couch, elbows propped on her knees. "Ye-ah! Either of you ever kissed a guy before?"

To which, they shot back in flawless unison: "Have you?"

Liz rolled her eyes but rallied. "Hey, I'm a single, forty-year-old, city-living lady. I've kissed more dudes than you two have even dreamt of. _Combined_. I know things, I have skills. I'll bet I could kiss the two of you under the table. You know…if I wanted."

"Very well," Jack drawled drunkenly. "So prove it."

"How?" she muttered, finishing another beer and throwing the spent can to the floor. "On one of your creepily-inscribed throw pillows?"

"Yeah, how?" Pete blinked, sitting up straighter on the floor. "I'm married. And my wife's scary."

"I'm engaged," Jack replied. "And my intended is much scarier, believe me."

"Yeah, and I'm…" Liz floundered for a second, then pulled a face, "Augh, I'm taken! Jeez, why do I keep forgetting about Carol?"

"I could give you a dozen reasons," Jack said, rising from the rug. "But let's play Spin the Bottle instead."

Of course, it might have been argued that Spin the Bottle was more High School than it was College. But they were all a little too wasted to point out such a minor inconsistency. It could also have been argued that Spin the Bottle was fairly pointless - or at least, would get very monotonous, very quickly - with only three participants. Particularly since one refused to allow open mouthed kisses (Liz), another refused to indulge in same sex mouth-on-mouth action (Jack) and the third kept falling asleep and slobbering all over his poncho (Pete). Even so, they began, with Jack spinning first and with his usual accuracy.

And that was how Jack and Liz ended up in his office closet. In the middle of the night. In near darkness. Surrounded by his plethora of crisp, expensive suits. With Pete on the other side of the door. Fast asleep. Having locked the two of them in. And that's how seven minutes of supposed heaven turned into seven hours of trapped hell and one of the longest nights of their lives.

-x-

One hour into their captivity, Jack is sitting on the floor, his back against the door and his head tipped back. Meanwhile, Liz is moving from suit to suit, meticulously rifling through his pockets, one at a time. Jack watches this behavior with mounting annoyance, eventually demanding:

"What exactly do you think you're going to find?"

Liz does not halt her investigation. "Food, dummy. What else?"

"Food?" he repeats, brows lifting. "You must be kidding. You just shot-gunned an entire pizza. I witnessed it with my own eyes. And a more disturbing sight I've never before seen. Although I must assume that your non-existent gag reflex has proven something of a blessing in the past."

"It's a skill I picked up early on in this job," she admits, digging her hand into a pocket of his pants. "I barely even bother chewing anymore. Cos if I did, I'd never get to finish anything."

Jack gives a little hum. "That's not really what I was getting at."

"I know," she huffs, looking deeply disappointed as her delving fingers return without reward. "I deliberately chose to misunderstand you. And anyway, dude, I had that pizza hours ago. I've moved on. And I need to keep up my strength, if we're going to be in here all night."

"We will not be in here _all night_," he mutters, leveling a look at her turned back.

"You don't know that. We could be." She throws him an answering look over her shoulder then moves onto the next suburb of suits. "And you're the one who must be kidding me. I mean…who doesn't have a half-eaten packet of potato chips hidden somewhere on them? Or a forgotten cookie in a back pocket? Or at least a few loose mentos hanging round?"

"Everyone but you, Lemon." Jack lets out a sigh, shifts his butt on the floor. "Those suits cost several hundred dollars each. _At least. _And unlike you, I do not walk around with the contents of a convenience store squirreled away within them. So I'm afraid, for the moment, you're both out of food and out of luck."

"_Or am I_?" Liz muses, her tone brimming with victory. She whips her hand out of one of his pockets, rounding on him and holding a shiny little packet aloft. "So what's this then? Huh?"

Jack eyes her find. Then eyes her. Then he replies slowly: "I believe that's a prophylactic, Lemon. Or what is more commonly referred to as a condom."

Liz squints at it in the low light. "Oh-" She drops it. "Ew…"

"Although it is blueberry flavored," he adds. "So I suppose it could be considered edible."

"Gross," she mutters, kicking the thing away.

Jack leans forward, grabbing the foil packet and pocketing it. "Don't throw it away, I might need it."

Her nose scrunches up. "Augh. So not hungry now…"

"Then please stop pillaging my wardrobe and come sit down."

Liz complies, putting her back against the door and sliding downwards until her butt hits floor. She releases a breath, looks over at him. "So…now what?"

-x-

"Do it again," Liz demands an hour later and for the fourth consecutive time.

"Lemon-"

"Come on, once more," she whines, bobbing up onto her knees. "And slowly, this time. I wanna try and figure out how you're doing it."

Jack relents and begins stuffing a handkerchief into his own fist, once again humming a bouncy tune. Liz watches avidly, closely, eyes intent on his every move and twitch and gesture. When he offers both fists to her, she examines them carefully before choosing one. Then she changes her mind. Twice.

"Lemon-"

"This one! This one!" she insists, tapping on his knuckles with one finger.

Even having just seen the trick and more than once, she is still visibly surprised when Jack opens his fist and the handkerchief has dematerialized. It isn't in the other hand either. She grabs it, claws it open and checks. Then she grasps his wrists and peers up both his sleeves. But she doesn't find it there either. When she is done searching, with a theatrical flourish, Jack draws it slowly out of her ear.

Liz shakes her head, gazing at him with a furrowed brow. "_How_ do you do that?"

Jack just smiles. "Magic."

-x-

Another hour after that, when they have explored the entire gamut of Jack's amateur magic tricks many times over, Liz offers to return the favor and entertain him. Jack tells her it isn't necessary. But she insists.

"Do you want me to sing something for you?"

"I don't-"

"Do you want me to dance? I could dance."

"That's really not-"

"Do you want me to tell you the rest if the plot of _My Fair Lady_? I can even do all the voices, sing all the different parts, if you want."

Jack smiles, taking in the eagerness all over her face. "What is it about that movie that you're so enamored of?"

"It's not just a movie," she corrects, sounding more than a little fanatical. "It was, well, an allegory first, then a play. Then a movie. Then a musical. Then another movie. And actually, I studied it in College. The play, that is, so if you want me to…"

"Fine, Lemon, fine." Jack bobs his head, giving in. "But just give me the Cliff Notes, without the song and dance."

"Okay, well…" Liz scoots around to face him, crossing her legs as she begins. "It's about this pompous know-it-all Professor dude who meets this Cockney girl at a flower market, right? And he says he can teach her to speak proper and-"

"Proper_ly_."

"Right. Proper_ly_. He makes a bet with his friend that he can fix her-"

"Fix her?" He gives a little humph. "That's a rather arrogant attitude."

"I know, right? But she agrees, for whatever reason, to let him teach her to speak well and dress well and be a real lady and get a better job and maybe even marry her off to a prince or whatever."

"But let me guess-" he interjects, a scathing look on his face. "They fall in love instead."

"Well…" Her mouth works wordlessly for a moment. "It's…not that simple."

"What are you talking about? It's _always_ that simple."

"No, they come from very different backgrounds and…they pretty much hate each other at first-"

"Right. Until they fall in love. It's the oldest story in the book, Lemon."

Liz shakes her head, her words faltering. "No. I mean…they do _like_ each other, yes. And they grow _used_ to each other. But…well- it's unclear whether there's more to it than that." She pauses, adds quickly, "It's a class issue really, the class system is to blame."

"I see." Jack is silent a moment. "So what happens in the end?"

"Well, in the play they have a big fight and she leaves him. But in the musical, they still fight but she comes back again."

"Why?"

"Because he's an insensitive bastard."

"No, not why do they fight; why does she come back?"

"Oh." Liz averts her eyes, gives a half-shrug. "I don't know."

Jack leans forward. "You don't know? I thought you said you studied this piece."

"A really long time ago, Jack."

"But you're still a creative-type, aren't you? With plenty of real life experience and an oversupply of imagination? Why would you go back to a man like that?"

Liz draws in a breath then answers, keeping her tone deliberately light, "I think she goes back because…they're both people that don't really fit anywhere else. Except with each other. They're both freaks. But they're matching freaks. They made each other that way."

Jack nods slowly. "So…you like the second ending then?"

She tips her head to one side. "I'm…not sure. I didn't say that, did I say that?"

"Well, which do you prefer? Or is this one of those instances where your implacable feminist principles are at war with your secret, warped romanticism?"

"I don't have secret, warped romanticism," she retorts, then waves a finger at him. "If anyone in this closet has secret, warped romanticism it's you, Jackie-boy."

Jack chuckles, leaning back again. "My romanticism may be warped, Lemon, but it is far from closeted. Unlike yours, which is rarely let out to play, let alone allowed to win."

"-I'm going to change the subject now," she announces cheerily after a short pause.

He nods once. "As I assumed you would."

She gets up off the floor, hitches up her jeans and kicks off her shoes. "Okay, so- you wanna hear me do _'Get Me to the Church on Time'_? I still know all the lyrics cos I also played Alfred in a Summer School production when I was fifteen. As well as a hooker. And a horse."

Jack blinks up at her. "Is this song loud enough and long enough that it might wake Pete up?"

"Yes."

He waves a hand. "Then go right ahead, Lemon."

Liz opens her mouth to start singing.

-x-

Four hours into their captivity, Jack rolls onto his back, adjusting his head on his pillow of folded shirts. He glances across at Liz, curled on her side, wedged against the door with her back to him, her head resting on another pile of shirts.

"Lemon, are you awake?"

"Completely," she grumbles. "You?"

"Obviously," he sighs, settling on his side and propping a hand beneath his head. "And I am now ready and willing to hear any and all recollections you might wish to share about your College experience, no matter how long-winded or depressing they may be. I shall have to content myself with living vicariously through your sad Collegic non-experience."

Liz shifts onto her other side to face him, keeping the oversized winter coat she is using as a blanket pulled up over her shoulder. She gives a wide, loud yawn, mumbling, "I dunno, Jack…Even if we'd gone to the same place…I doubt our College experiences would have been very similar. We wouldn't have taken any of the same classes or had any mutual friends or interests. We wouldn't have been at any of the same sort of parties and-" she pauses to glance about at their cage, "we certainly would never have found ourselves locked in a make-out closet together."

Jack catches her yawn, replies, "Even if we _did_ happen to find ourselves engaged in a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, you wouldn't have made out with me. Would you? You'd just have picked a fight instead. I'm certain that's how your breasts made it through College entirely unfondled."

"Hey!" she gives an indignant gasp. "My boobs were so fondled. They got some action."

"Gays don't count, Lemon. Nor does," he pauses, gesturing with one hand at her chest, "…yourself."

She smacks his hand away and continues on sulkily. "And you're the one who wouldn't have made out with _me_. Not that you'd be in the minority there. But I bet you wouldn't have even given me the time of day back then. You with your perfect hair and your Superman chest and your muscley jock friends and your giggly sorority girlfriends. You and I would never have even been friends. A word you _still_ have trouble calling us, even after five years. Instead, you hide behind that lame-ass mentor/mentee crap-"

"Excuse me?" he interrupts, brows shooting upwards. "Come on, Lemon, let's be real here. You hide behind that weak we're-just-friends line every bit as much as I admit, I might conceal certain aspects of our exchange with my still true and still necessary, I might add, mentorship of you."

"Are you _kidding me_?" She hikes herself into a sitting position. "You're the one that-"

"No-" Jack sits too, jabbing a finger at her. "You're the one."

She waves her finger at him in reply. "No, you're the one!"

"No. You are!" he accuses, voice rising.

"Wha-?" Liz makes an exasperated face. "I don't even know what we are accusing each other of!"

"Yes, you do," Jack insists, getting to his feet and beginning to pace the small space. "You know very well what this is about. Because you started avoiding me as soon as we were locked in here."

"How can I avoid you in a freaking closet, Jack?"

"Just like you avoided the issue by picking a fight with me in that storage closet in White Haven."

"_I_ picked a fight with _you_?" Liz scrambles to her feet, takes a swipe at his passing arm with one hand. "_You_ picked a fight _with me_, like you always do, cos you're so screwy that you don't even know how to relate without being mean and insulting."

Jack rounds on her. "Oh, you mean like how you don't know how to relate without telling lame jokes?"

"My jokes are not lame!" she shouts, looking overly offended. "Except the ones that are meant to be. And you know what your problem is, what your problem has always been?" She steps up to him, her hands beginning to gesture wildly with her point. "_You_ only want…all the big bits of any relationship. You want the highs and the lows. You want all the drama and all the _"warped romanticism"_ but when anything is just ordinary and good and like it is, you get bored and think it isn't worth anything."

"And you know what your problem is?" Jack counters, stepping closer.

"What? Tell me! Like you even need an invitation!"

"You only like all the bits in the middle, all the ordinary bits, all the safe bits. You like the comfortable routine of having someone there for you but you can't handle when they put even one toe outside of your safety zone. You don't want to deal with _any_ drama or, heaven forbid, any romanticism, warped or not, nothing that might be even vaguely uncomfortable for you. So as soon as it comes up, you run a mile." He pauses, voice lowering to a serious rasp as he says, "You get scared, Lemon."

"I'm not the scared one," she mutters, backing up slightly, "You are. _You're_ scared."

Jack stands his ground, eyes boring into hers. "I'm not scared. Because I know what this is. I know what you've been trying to avoid all these years, what you can't avoid in this moment."

She cocks her head, her tone sarcastic. "And what's that? I'll bet you can't even say it aloud. Cos you're so damn scared of saying stuff."

"I can and I will."

"So do it, I'm not stopping you."

"I'm not scared of the fact that right here, right now, we are not friends, we are not mentor and mentee."

Liz opens her mouth to respond, eyes flashing. But Jack continues before she can get a single word in:

"_We_ are a man and a woman. You and me." He places a hand on his own chest. "Man." Then moves it to her shoulder. "Woman." She shrugs him off with a scowl, his hand drops back to his side. "That is all. It's that simple. But you are terrified of what that might mean. You're terrified of what might happen next, what _could_ happen…if that was all we were."

Liz shakes her head, silent a moment. "I'm not terrified."

"No?" Jack takes a deliberate step backwards. "Let's see then, what happens next."

"Fine."

"Fine." He looks at his watch, taps the face with one fingertip. "For the next seven minutes then, that's all we are. We are not friends."

"I agree," she mutters, " We are not."

"We are not mentor or mentee or any other euphemisms we might each come up with."

"Okay…" she nods, a shadow of doubt passing over her face.

Jack lifts his eyes to hers again. "We are simply a man and a woman. Stranded in a closet. In the middle of the night. Having drunk a little too much."

"I can hack that, I can totally hack it. Seven minutes?" She blows some air out through her lips. "Seven minutes is _nothing_…"

"Good," Jack smiles. "Then here we go."

-x-

Sometime later, they sit with their backs against the door again, a deliberate distance between them. They've been staring ahead at nothing, not speaking for a long time, when Liz finally states:

"That…should not have happened."

"No. It shouldn't," Jack answers. "But- it did."

She bobs her head a few times, eyes wide. "Did it ever."

Silence descends again. Liz kneels to retrieve the coat she was using as a blanket earlier in the night. Jack rubs at his tired eyes as she slips on the borrowed coat, arms sliding into the too-long sleeves and the heavy material flooding her figure. She settles back beside him, hands shoved in the deep pockets. When he feels a tap on his arm, he turns to see her holding up a cookie. A large one. An old one. Chocolate chipped. Probably sprinkled with mould too, not that Liz seems to care.

"Was that," he asks, "…in my pocket?"

"Uh huh," she nods, ripping open the plastic.

She hesitates though, before putting the thing in her mouth and devouring it. Jack watches her stop, re-think then break the cookie in half. She hands him one half, which he accepts. And they eat, in silence.

-x-

Six hours into their captivity, Jack is still awake. Whether his sleeplessness is due to the rush of conflicting emotions and desires he can still feel pumping through his blood or the crushing guilt that is only just beginning to set in, he doesn't know. It may simply be the result of the hard floor beneath him and the cold air about him and the heavy Lemon leaning on him. She snores softly, dead to the world, her head on his shoulder and her drool on his jacket and her body trying to steal his heat. He doesn't know how she can sleep at a time like this, but he doesn't begrudge her the temporary escape. Reality will come crashing in soon enough. She might as well enjoy what little peace she can get. As he might as well enjoy this. Just this. This small peace. This still moment. Because Liz is right. The door will open soon. And nothing and everything will be changed.

Jack looks down at the face squelched against his shoulder, its budding lines and distinct features and deep familiarity. He picks some cookie crumbs off her collar and puts them in his mouth. And he thinks that he really does not know anymore whether they're in heaven or hell.

-x-

Just over seven hours after the lock first clicked shut on them, it slides open. Neither Jack nor Liz wake until the door behind them opens, causing them to fall backwards, banging their heads on the floor and giving a simultaneous groan. When they look up, through bleary, blinking eyes, both rubbing their heads, Pete and Jonathan are standing over them, peering down at their sprawled, mussed forms. Pete immediately launches into an apology and reaches down to help Liz to her feet. Jonathan helps his boss up, launching into a full account of his actions since arriving at the office that morning to find Pete asleep under his poncho in Jack's favorite leather chair. As soon as she is on her feet, Liz cuts off Pete's apology with a firm shove to his chest. Pete goes silent, looking wounded.

"_That_…is for locking us in, you balding doofus."

"Thankyou," he replies meekly. "For the bald_ing_ bit."

She rolls her eyes and stalks through the small throng, giving Jonathan a shove against his concave little chest while she's at it.

Jack's assistant gasps like a pissy drag queen, one hand on his breast. "What was _that_ for?"

Liz just glares at him.

Jack remains silent.

"Letting them out, maybe?" Pete murmurs.

She rounds on him, daggers shooting from her eyes. But her gaze inadvertently catches Jack's - and holds. Something shifts in her eyes before she lowers her face, turns on her heel and exits without another word, his long coat billowing behind her.

"What's her problem?" Pete mutters once she's gone. He rests a hand on Jack's shoulder, giving it a chummy pat, but withdraws it quickly at Jack's unimpressed look.

"Um, you locked them in a closet," Jonathan reminds him snippily. "_Together_. Him-" He gestures at his boss glowingly then makes a foul face, waving some fingers after Liz. "And…_that_."

Jack clicks his fingers at Jonathan, then at the remnants of the previous night's party. "If you ask me, she looks like someone with buyer's remorse."

"Why would she have buyer's remorse?" Pete mumbles dumbly. "What'd she buy?"

But Jack has walked away. And a moment later, Jonathan appears beside him, holding out his guitar. "You need to leave now."

Pete takes his guitar and heads for the door. "Well…sorry, again," he says from the threshold. "Really, I can't explain how-"

"Don't worry about it," Jack mutters, standing behind his desk, eyes lowered to his diary. "Just do me a favor and make sure Liz-" He looks up briefly, shakes his head. "Never mind, Pete. It's fine, everything's fine. Go back to work."

Pete nods once and slips out. Meanwhile, Jonathan is examining the chaos of his closet, looking aghast:

"What _happened_ in here? Why are there _shirts_ everywhere? What did that _person_ do to all your beautiful shirts? Just one of these shirts is worth more than everything she owns. Would you like me to have everything dry-cleaned, sir, and _sterilized _because-"

Jack waves him away from the open closet. "Leave it, Jonathan. Right now, all I want is coffee. And breakfast. As fast as you can."

"Yes, sir." He gives a little nod and skedaddles, closing the door after him.

Once alone, Jack lets out a long sigh and lowers himself to his chair. For a moment or two, he runs his eyes over the mess on his coffee table and rug, the pizza box, the beer cans, the chip packets. His eyes lift to the door of his closet, now sitting ajar. His phone ringing disturbs the aftermath but Jack lets it ring, rising and heading for the bathroom, one hand rubbing his sore back.

-x-

He hasn't seen Liz in seven days and seven nights. Not since that night. The night they were locked in his closet and all hell broke lose. He knows she's been at work, because he's seen her on the TV screens that stream _TGS_'s chaotic rehearsals straight into his office. So he knows she's alive. He knows she's functioning. And he assumes Liz is fine. Or as fine as she generally is when wrangling her unruly cast and crew. Jack hasn't actually seen her in person though since she stormed out of his office shortly after they were liberated from their enclosure. They haven't passed each other on the street or met up while grabbing a pre-work coffee. They haven't bumped into each other in the foyer or on the elevator. He hasn't been down to her office. And she hasn't been up to his. When necessary, he's passed on any vital information through Pete. Which Liz mostly responded to by leaving succinct messages with Jonathan.

They can't go on like this though. It's simply not feasible, not on any level. They must resolve what happened between them. Jack knows it. And evidently, Liz agrees with him. Because as he is finishing a long and dull call to Germany, he sees her slink into the frame of his door and give it a soft rap. She smiles tentatively, his coat slung over her arm. Jack waves her in, finishes off his phone call and stands up from his desk.

"Hey," she says, taking one step inside his door. "Jonathan _didn't_ come down to six and _didn't_ tell me that you wanted to see me. And you didn't hear it from me."

Jack bobs his head, replying after a pause, "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"Well…you're my boss," she says, giving a little shrug. "I have to do what you say sometimes."

He steps out from behind his desk, moving slowly, speaking carefully. "I didn't call you up here as your boss."

"I…didn't really come up here as your employee," she answers, meeting his gaze but only briefly. She shuffles behind his couch, lays his coat over the back of it and gives it a pat. "Actually, I just came to give you back your coat. Which according to Jonathan is worth more than my life. So…thanks for the loan." She spots the coffee table laden with his best tea set and various platters of food. "But it looks like you have a big meeting lined up so I'll just head back-"

Jack watches her head to door, raising his voice to stop her. "This is for you, actually. For us, rather."

Liz stops; she glances over her shoulder. "…Us?"

He picks up a silver platter with small portions of assorted cakes on it. "I bought cake, Lemon. By which, I mean I sent Jonathan out to buy cake." Moving over to her at the door, he places the platter in her eyeline, letting her take in all the richness within her reach. "Lots and lots of different kinds of cake. As many as you could want."

"Oh…well..." She begins to turn back, mesmerized by the lure of the tiny delicacies. "Maybe I could skip rehearsal…just for a little bit..."

Jack takes the platter back to the coffee table and places it in the middle, Liz trailing him in a salivating trance. "Sit, please." He gestures to the couch then picks up the tea pot. "Tea?"

"Sure." She sits, tearing her eyes from the cake and turning them on him. "Are they my glasses?"

"Oh, yes." Jack pulls her folded frames out of his breast pocket and hands them across. "You left them on the coffee table the other night-"

"Thanks," she cuts him off quickly, slips them back on her face. "Thanks for getting them back to me."

He holds her tea out to her. "I don't know how you've been getting around without them."

She leans forward, accepting the cup and choosing a piece of cake from the platter he taunted her with. "I've been bumping into a lot of walls and calling a lot of people by the wrong name. And the other day I ate a carrot that I thought was a candy bar."

"Well," he muses, pouring his own tea, "we can't have you mistakeningly eating healthy, can we now?"

"Uh-uh…" she agrees, mouth full of cake and lips rimmed with white sugar.

Jack settles back in his chair. He takes a sip of tea, pins her eyes. "So. Lemon."

Liz immediately tenses, her cup rattling slightly on its saucer. She gulps down her cake, her gaze dropping to her shoes. After an inordinately uncomfortable silence, she looks up at him. "I…don't know how to have this conversation, Jack. I just don't."

"I'm not sure I do either," he replies, voice low. "But I think we need to, don't you?"

There's another long silence, before they both begin talking at once:

"So-"

"Lem-"

They break off.

"Sorry," Liz mutters. "Go ahead." At the same time that Jack murmurs: "Please. Go on."

She nods at him. "No, you go."

He waves a hand. "Ladies first. I insist."

Liz gives a wry chuckle, takes another bite of her cake. "Well, look-" she begins eventually, "we're both adults. We both know what happened, right?"

Jack nods. "Right."

"And we both…wanted it to happen." She pauses, eyes flicking over to his. "On some level. We must have. I mean…right?"

He nods again. "We did, Lemon, yes. At least, I did."

"Me too…" She takes a breath, rolls her eyes at the ceiling. "And we both know that it was _crazy_ and can never happen again."

He nods a third time. "No, no. Absolutely not."

"So, I guess…" Liz takes another bite of cake, chewing thoughtfully before washing it down with a mouthful of tea. "I guess as long as you never tell me to fetch your slippers…then…we're okay."

"I don't have a clue what that means-"

"I know you don't-"

"But I think I can safely promise never to do so." Jack gives her a little smile then tips his cup at her. "And I trust that you will likewise never ask me to fetch any slippers of yours."

"I don't own slippers. I prefer socks."

"Well, there you are then."

"So…" she lifts her eyebrows at him, "that's it? We're good? We're back to being friends?"

Jack gets to his feet. "And mentor and mentee, don't forget."

She smiles, getting to her feet as well. "'Course." But before leaving, she leans down to the cake platter, mumbling, "I might just take one for the elevator…"

Jack picks up the platter and hands it to her. "Please, Lemon, take it with you. They're yours. Share them with the writers. Or don't. Your choice."

"Ooo, okay…" She takes the cakes from him, grinning at him over their little frosted tips. "Thanks, Jack."

Jack smiles back, watching her turn and head for the door again. As she does, he can't help but notice her step falter as she casts a furtive glance toward their closet. It's barely perceptible, but it's there. For a mere instant only - before the look, the momentary hesitation and Liz are all gone. Jack takes a long sip of hot tea then moves to the couch and collects his coat. He walks to the closet, opens the door and heads inside to hang the coat up in its normal position. As he does, he hears an odd crackling, which on investigation, he finds is coming from the pockets. All of which have been filled to the brim with individually packaged cookies. Large ones. Chocolate chipped ones. Liz's favorite ones. Jack chuckles to himself. The others can stay where they are, but he transfers one cookie from the coat into the pocket of the suit he is wearing. Then he walks out of the closet, closing the door behind him with a quiet thud.

_END._


End file.
